Ask the Young

T. and I had plans for Sunday.  He still wants me to teach him "photography" meaning we would go out with cameras and make some pictures.  But Sunday came in damp and cold and sunless, and I was lazy, then I played beautician and helped my mother color her hair.  It wasn't much of anything, really.  The hardest part was getting the thick gelatin like substance out of the squeeze tube into the application container with the other chemicals.  After mixing them, I just squeezed the stuff all over my mother's head as she massaged it in.  Wait thirty minutes and rinse.  Sale price--$4.95.  

What?!?  Do you know what I pay to get foiled????

She was supposed to turn blonde again, but she came out a light brunette.  She is disappointed, but it still looks much better than the gray.  

By the time we had finished up, it was one and still dusky out, so I texted T and told him it wasn't a good day for photography but if he wanted to go later to let me know.  He seemingly had no interest.  

I went back to my house and worked on images I hadn't processed yet and made some more. . . what did I call it--Post Photographic Subtractive Presence?

I need to make that more memorable.  

 I burned the Lampe Berger with the Lolita Lempicka oil and sweetened and purified the air in my abandoned home. . . but help MAY be on the way.  My hillbilly cousin called and told my mother she would be here mid-January.  Really?  Hope against hope.  Hell, maybe it will happen. 

Still, I will call a number I was given for in-home senior care today to see what it is and how it works.  My mother is a tough bird, and I can't do this for the rest of my life.  Just to be able to go out to make some nighttime pictures seems like a little slice of heaven let alone being able to slip out of town once in awhile.  

But simply to be in my own home with my own things and to determine what to do with my own time and to sleep in my own bed.  

Oy.  

Hell. . . maybe I will get one of these. 

Yea, I don't think it will make me any more attractive.  I keep sending the pillow ads to my married friends asking them if they have bought one yet.  None of them have answered.  My guess is that their wives won't let them.  Do people married a decade or more still have sex?  With each other, I mean.  

I just looked it up. 

Frequency Varies Widely: Some couples maintain a weekly or bi-weekly schedule, while others have sex monthly or less.

"Normal" is Subjective: Experts emphasize that there's no single right number; contentment with the frequency is key, with a "sexless marriage" often defined as less than 10 times a year, which isn't always a sign of failure.

I DO know, however, that cuckolding has become a very popular thing in my own hometown.  It is easier than swinging, of course, because you don't have to have four willing, attractive people.  Many men have become more open about it.  

So, of course, I just looked it up.  

Cuckolding is indeed becoming more mainstream, especially among couples looking to explore new dimensions of intimacy. Cuckolding is now seen as a way to deepen connections between partners, moving beyond mere humiliation to a shared adventure.

I'm guessing, only guessing once again, that the people I've sent those advertisements to have yet to find the pleasures of being a cuck.  

This is all fascinating to me, of course, who always enjoys the twisted lives of others. 

"Why do you say it is twisted, dude?"

You're right.  I think what other people do is fine.  Heteros are beginning to enjoy the life of gays now, I guess.   Tell the truth--wouldn't you like to see someone plowing your own true love?

"Oh, yes. . . I'd love to see him getting plowed."

She said.  

Well this has certainly gotten out of hand.  Let me go back.  What I DID do yesterday was go through my old Lonesomeville Pola files to find family friendly images.  That was a chore. . . and pretty much a waste of time.  When I was finished, I looked like the worst photographer in the world.  So I said to Red.  

"Oh don’t you even! You know how good you are! I do! Ok I’ll go through them in a bit."

I asked her not to show them to the gallery owner until she let me know which ones she chose.  The wrong choice could kill the whole deal, I think.  

Shit.  I should send her the little boy and the little girl in the swim caps.  Oh. . . but only the little boy is a Pola.  Still. . . . 

It is Monday, and things return to normal.  The holidays are all over now.  Everyone will feel the low hum of routine once again.  It makes me happy, of course.  I hate it when everyone else is having fun and I'm having none.  

Trump is having fun.  He's a real cowboy, that fellow, balls as big as cowtown.  

You know we're fucked, right?  This can never turn out well.  The motherfucker knows he is dying and is determined to fuck up everything before he goes.  All you assholes who voted for this evil, twisted moron have done this.  

"What about Biden?  Harris?  Hillary?  Obama?"

That's their mantra. . . and in part. . . they are right--except about Obama, the best president in my lifetime.  But the dems have fucked up, and so we have Trump.  

I guess we can all share the blame.  We've squandered what we had and have ruined everything.  

I guess.  I'd really have to ask some twenty-somethings to know.  That's just what I think I'll do.